Check Please
by B does the write thing
Summary: AU Storybrooke-Belle did not mind confrontation but she always preferred to ignore, dismiss or sweet talk her way out of uncomfortable situations. It was neater than throwing wine in someone's face but far less satisfying.


**Author's Note**

**I claim no rights, etc.**

**This is an AU where Storybrooke is just a regular little town with regular little people- every day like the one before…**

**Anyways – hope you enjoy!**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Belle had a rather remarkable buzz going which was only slightly dampened by the fact that she was leaning her elbow in a wet patch.

"Another glass?" suggested the bartender, his head was cocked towards her but his attention was focused on filling the tumbler in his hand with some kind of scotch.

Belle watched the brown liquid crash against the smudged lines of the glass with disinterest. "No, I'm fine," she assured him, rebelling in her own small way by omitting her token thank you.

She tacked Thank You or I'm Sorry onto every sentence she spoke- a sort of apology to the people who were in the unfortunate situation of talking with her. Waitresses, bartenders, shop girls, check out boys, her beautician, the stranger she bumped into on the street - sorry, sorry, sorry or thank you, thank you, thank you.

It was misting outside. Usually nights like these, she would be curled up on the couch- watching TV alone, curled up in a blanket and thinking forlornly of him.

Him.

Her mind shied away from it, wouldn't do to think of someone who doesn't think of you. She glanced down at her almost completed second glass of merlot and twitched her nose in boredom. Belle hated red wine.

But it was Friday night in the city- she had gotten her hair just right, her makeup looked fantastic and the new dress she had worn to work had been too perfect not to go out in- but Ruby had cancelled, Leroy had a date tonight, and she had given the Charmings some excuse as to why she couldn't come over and play Charades.

Walking into the bar had been uncomfortable, her hair was probably flat from the rain, her eyeliner had smudged somewhere after the first glass of wine, and she knew her dress was snug against her waist line from the second helping of pizza she had for lunch.

She leaned in to take a sip and her traitorous mind supplied his voice- reminding her that alcohol was very fattening and her habit of drinking her dinner lately may have helped her fill out after her spiral of depression but wasn't doing her any favors.

She took more than sip- if only drowning out the voices in her head was as easy as knocking back cheap wine. A high pitched giggle to her left caused her to shift and glance over her shoulder. It was a mistake, she knew the instant she left her own private pity party to watch the world around her.

Girls with their hair curled and falling perfectly, their outfits snug and yet loose in the current fashion were laughing at a table- a crowd of men hovering near them, obviously part of the group and yet having a moment to themselves by the pool table.

Belle watched one man, his hair dark and his frame wide bend over a smaller girl- her lips curled into a seductive smile and her eyes flashing in the dark light of the bar. She pressed against him laughing as his arm snaked around her. It was a very clear and very definite claim done by both of them.

Belle watched, her mind desperately trying to twist the jealous, lonely knot in her chest to a silver lining. If they can be so happy, surely she would have a chance one day. Even if Ashton wasn't going to come around….

She turned back to the bar, her glass somehow had emptied itself and the bartender was ignoring her now. He would wait until he was bored again before drifting down to her end of the bar- to inquire if she wanted the check or another glass- not caring either way.

Belle French was too busy feeling sorry for herself that she barely felt the pricks of tears hit the already ruined eyeliner and let out a wearied sigh of frustration and pent up emotion. Shaking her head slightly, she bent her fingers around her wine stem and swirled the red droplets in the glass, watching them swirl and bead together.

"A glass of scotch," rumbled a foreign voice to her right and Belle felt herself looking before she remembered not to.

Her eyes met the gray eyes of an older man who glanced at her sharply before returning his attention to the bartender who had trekked all the way from the other side of the bar magically and was in the process of procuring the requested scotch without a word.

Belle figured the man was probably a regular when the voice to her right interrupted the choreographed moments of the bartender, "No, the Glenfiddich."

The bartender looked confused, Belle tapped her glass, her head bent away from the stranger, watching the couple at the end of the bar quietly finish their dinner but her attention was focused on the conversation between the two men.

"Sorry, we don't carry that- I have Johnny Walker-"

"Sonny, if you would be so kind as to check the cabinet behind the register- I am aware that Madame Mayor keeps her bottle in there for her clients, she mentioned I may have to do something as…undignified as to give you some sort of code word but I am hoping," and his voice suggested he meant expected, not hoped, "that you will pour me a glass, charge it to Mayor Mills and leave me alone for the remainder of my evening."

Belle caught the bartender's eye as he looked away from the man to her right. She looked away quickly, her attention back to her once upon a time manicured nails and the still conspicuously empty wine glass in front of her.

The barkeep brushed past her and went to the cherry wood cabinet which was in line with the wall. It's paneling mixing in and almost disappearing with the rows of shelves that supported the bar's renowned liquor collection. A mixed drink at the Rabbit Hole was a pricey luxury and one that Belle had balked at- her house red wine would probably still run her over the course of twelve dollars per glass but she licked her lips, the oaky flavor lingering on her tongue and destroying her lipstick.

A clink was the only sound as the bartender placed the requested scotch in front of his high grade connoisseur and backed away back to the relative safety of Mr. and Mrs. Sprat who were finished with their meal and were glancing through a dessert catalog …well, Mrs. Sprat was.

Belle risked another look to her right in the pretense of looking out the large bay window of the bar. It was still misting outside and the lights looked eerie glowing like orbs in the haze of the rain. The stranger had long gray hair that was soft and thin, brushing the damp collar of his jacket, streaked with rain and pushing back at his temples. He had scruff on his jaw but his back was ramrod straight which belied the unusual apparatus of a walking cane that he had placed on the seat between them.

Belle flicked her gaze to the mirror that backed the bar and saw he was watching her size him up, his eyes blazing in the dim bar- narrowed like a snake's and his mouth curled in sardonic amusement.

She averted her gaze back to the bartender in embarrassment. He had his back towards their corner, obviously not wanting to return until Mr. Scotch had taken his leave.

Which meant Belle was stuck with no drink and no bill and no way of escaping with her dignity intact.

She flexed her right heel under the bar, and shifted her weight to her left so she could turn and return to watching some of the bar inhabitants. The pool group was laughing loudly and most of the girls were ignoring those around them and watching the rest of the bar, hungry eyes searching for the man who could, just might be, the one who would distract them from their loneliness.

Belle recognized it as she was doing the same thing. However, the Rabbit Hole was a nice, business bar and most of the patrons were noticeably older and dining out with their dates.

The young crowd she was watching was obviously from the local college and were probably all pre-somethings who were celebrating one of their own's victory in academia or the business world.

Belle twisted back and stared down the bartender, trying to get his attention through focusing on the back of his neck, her whole body leaning forward and her empty glass teetering drunkenly in her grip. She craned her neck and smiled at the woman who was in the process of ordering a drink but she looked away and continued to chat without alerting the bartender to her plight.

She sighed.

Grabbing her purse, Belle straightened her dress and made a move to get down from her stool when the foreign voice spoke again- the same calm, detached and low rumble from before.

"Another glass for the lady, I believe," suggested the stranger, and the bartender looked up from his current customer to look at her in momentarily interest.

"One minute," he replied, turning back to the young woman who was now leaning across the bar and showing less interest in her sweating drink and more interest in the muscles that were showing through the bartender's white collar shirt.

"I'm fine," Belle murmured, not looking at the stranger. "I've already had two glasses; I just need my card back."

"My mistake, you seemed rather interested in my drink order, I figured you were in need of another drink yourself."

She tensed, eyes plummeting to the warped wood of the old time bar counter. Her glass had left a small ring of condensation and her elbow was still damp from its earlier sojourn into the water ring. She shook her head, a tense curt move that she hoped was a clear sign that she did not want to talk.

A stranger ordering high end scotch and had powerfully dangerous waves leaking out of him like cologne wasn't someone she wanted to discuss her evening plans with.

He seemed to understand her perfectly and fell silent, other than the chinking of ice in his glass.

In a desperate attempt at distraction, she pulled out her cell phone, the small screen showed a missed text from Ruby and a few notifications on the impending weather front moving in. But the number she had most wanted to see was not there. A familiar falling in her stomach accompanied by disgust at herself distracted her enough that she didn't notice the bartender put down the glass of red wine until it was too late.

"Oh, no," she fumbled and the bartender paused and turned back to her," I wanted my bill actually."

"Oh," the bartender narrowed his brow in confused annoyance and glanced at her neighbor.

"I'm sorry," she said, the familiar words falling out despite her earlier promise to herself, "I'll pay for this but can I get my check when you get a moment?"

"Yea, sure," the white shirt grumbled, already walking away from her towards the register to get her card. "What was the last name again?" he called out over his shoulder.

"French," she supplied. "Belle French."

He nodded as he flipped through the cards at the till and started to ring hers up.

Her eyes fell back to the dying light of her phone and she slipped it back in her purse with a sigh. She picked up the unwanted glass and put it to her lips. Her buzz didn't make the taste any smoother and she bit back a shiver as the alcohol slicked its way over her taste buds.

"Belle French," said a voice suddenly by her elbow. She found herself suddenly being addressed by an older gentlemen in a wrinkled shirt collar with a shine of liquor on his cheeks. His eyes were half glazed and his voice was high, almost effeminate.

"Uh, yes," she answered, drawing her elbows in over her drink. She offered a tight lip smile and took another sip of her dark red.

"My business associates all just departed and left me to finish my drink alone, mind if I sit and finish mine with yours?" He smiled a grin which he must have assumed was charming but was instead slightly overdone. It stretched his face out and made his appearance boyish. It came across as more disconcerting than endearing.

"I was just getting my check actually." But old habits die hard and she felt in her nervous state more words slip out of her mouth. "Sorry."

The sorry seemed to encourage him and he leaned against the bar, crowding her and yet far enough away that she couldn't be affronted. "So unfortunate to see a young woman drinking by herself at the bar."

"It's not so bad," she laughed nervously, "Just had to get out for a bit."

"Yes, terrible weather, though isn't it?" He asked. His eyes never leaving her face even as she took another fortifying sip of her drink. Her buzz was beginning to solidify into something more solidly on the edges of drunken tiredness.

"MmHmm," she responded, her hand drifting back into her purse to retrieve her phone. Perhaps if she faked a call she could get rid of him without appearing rude-

"Here you go," said the bartender, sliding her check across the slick wood, never pausing for an instant and returning back to his comfort zone at the opposite end of the bar. The white paper with its black print was surprisingly bright in the contrast of the dark room and Belle stuck her hand back into her purse to fish out her credit card. The number at the bottom was a staggering amount for three glasses of wine but Belle pursed her lips and placed the rectangle of plastic neatly on the till and slide it back.

"Can I get another whiskey sour and one for her as well?" boomed the interloper. The bartender nodded without looking over at her and she felt a flash of anger.

The bartender kept allowing men to order her drinks she didn't want, and was charging them to her.

"I really can't," she gently admonished," I need to be going."

"One more drink, Belle," the man laughed, using her name as if she had given it to him.

An angry bloom of frustration crept into her chest. Belle did not mind confrontation but she always preferred to ignore, dismiss or sweet talk her way out of uncomfortable situations. It was neater than throwing wine in someone's face but far less satisfying.

"I'm fine, thank you but whiskey doesn't agree with me. "

"Here you go."

Two glasses of clear and sticky Whiskey Sours clinked down in front of her and her bill was picked up and carted away. She saw him slide her card and she rubbed her face with her hands, scrubbing away at the frustration that she felt must be blazing on it.

"I'm good, but thank you for the offer," she dismissed him with another polite tight lip smile and knocked back the last of the toxic red wine. She felt the tang of it against her lips and gave in to the involuntary shiver that always followed when she took a large drink.

"Belle, do you work around here?"

He was serious- he was going to sit here and force small talk; she felt her face grow hot and desperately tried to will the bartender back with her card so she could make a quick escape. She had parked two streets down and she already knew she was in no shape to drive but she couldn't stay here one moment longer. She had to get out-

"Belle, dearie, are you ready to go? The car is being brought around and I'm rather tired after today's meetings."

Wait- What?

Wide eyed, she turned to face Mr. Scotch whose empty glass was being carefully put down as he adjusted his cuff links. His eyes caught hers, and a mischievous spark seemed to grin at her from behind his stoic features.

For some reason the impish grin of the stranger made her feel far more comfortable than the boyish one of the other man beside her. It made him appear younger.

"Oh good, here's your card, shall we?"

The bartender gave Belle the hairy eyeball, obviously thinking he had misjudged her as just another lonely girl at the bar as opposed to a kind of…call girl. She felt her cheeks blaze up again and she looked away from him quickly- scrawling a tip on the check and sliding it back towards him.

A hot arm pressed against her side and she recoiled towards Mr. Scotch as Mr. Whiskey Sour leaned over her, "I believe Belle was going to stay and have another drink, old man. Besides," he leered down at Belle in camaraderie, "I didn't believe the lady was with you."

Silver eyes narrowed in the calm features as they stared down Mr. Whiskey Sour and then plummeted like a falcon seeing a hare below onto Belle's red face.

His eyes were no longer glinting with sardonic humor but a cold predatory expression. There was no attraction there, nothing to signify he was at any way interested in her other than offering her an escape route and one that he was already regretting her had offered. His face was clear- if she wanted out, he had provided one. If she was uncomfortable with it, it was her problem.

Belle heard her mother's warnings ringing in her ears but the wine was hitting her hard.

Mr. Whiskey Sour was beginning to frighten her more than she would like to admit. Between the ogre breathing down her neck and the cold snake of a man with his odd cane, she felt her lack of bravery strongly.

She stood, slipping her purse on her shoulder and nearly knocking over Mr. Whiskey Sour.

"Of course," she turned briefly to the red faced man she had left leaning on the bar, "Thank you for the drink but I did say I didn't want it. Enjoy your evening. "

Mr. Scotch offered her his arm and she took it, he not a very tall man, his frame was slight and she was internally grateful that he offered his arm as her knees felt a little loose, he held open the door with his cane and she breezed out into the misting air.

A silver car flashed its lights at their exit, and a valet slipped out of it and ran through the rain with an umbrella to them. He held it over her head and made a motion to the waiting car but faltered suddenly when she didn't make a move towards the passenger side.

"Thank you," Belle said, turning to Mr. Scotch who was glaring menacingly at the valet who was backing up slowly, keys still in his hand. "I appreciate your help. That was a very awkward situation."

He looked at her for a moment, "I apologize for ordering another drink for you earlier- I am not in the habit of sitting at bars by myself but I noted the server was being less than perfunctory to your needs."

He paused as if he was fumbling for the right words, "I was not attempting…"

Belle realized with an odd drunken clarity that he was embarrassed at his earlier action of ordering her a drink. She had thought it rather odd at the time but she now saw it as more chivalrous motion rather than the more obvious attempt of seduction like Mr. Whiskey.

"Oh, no, don't worry about that," she smiled but winced as the wind kicked misting rain into her face.

"And at the risk of being too familiar, can I offer you a safe and warm drive somewhere? I hope you'll excuse me for this but I don't think you are in any position to be walking or driving anywhere tonight."

Belle felt herself get warm in discomfort. He had been perfectly polite but he was a stranger, one that was still intimidating and who she knew absolutely nothing about. She glanced at the empty streets, no taxis in their small metropolis at this hour it would seem.

"Oh, no I can walk, I just parked a ways down the street," she reassured him, patting his left arm which she still held. She let it go, before taking a step away right as the rain picked up and a peal of thunder shook the sky over them.

She looked up despairingly at the night sky and let out a small whimper of defeat. She had no umbrella which was obvious to Mr. Scotch and he had already correctly surmised she was far gone in her cups.

But something felt too oddly wrong to get into a car with a stranger much less the kind of odd foreign stranger that drank high end scotch and rescued ladies in distress at four star bars.

"Valet," Mr. Scotch turned back to the young man who approached again, his umbrella shaking droplets of water. "Could you please call a taxi for Ms. French?"

Belle watched as a bill that looked clean and new pass between the two men and the boy nodded.

"That should cover the valet and this," he produced another bill and handed it over as well "should cover her ride home. Let the driver know that he can keep the change."

The boy's eyes widened as he looked down to the bills in his hand and then back to Mr. Scotch and Belle. Her rescuer ignored him.

"Dearie, you do live within city limits I presume?"

She found her voice somewhere in her stomach and eked out a response. "Yes, there's really no need, I can just-"

"That'll be all," he dismissed the valet who handed him his keys and retreated to the valet booth to call a taxi presumably. "Ms. French, as a father to a young man roughly your own age, I can tell you I raised him to understand when a lady can take care of herself and when one could use a helping hand of a gentleman. I assure you, I will forget your name the instant I see you safely tucked away into a taxi and I have no designs on you other than seeing you safely home."

"Besides," he said with that glint returning to his eyes and a sardonic grin cocking itself across his face, " It is rather nice to see men like the idiot in there left reeling when a young woman practically flee from them with an old dragon like me."

"Thank you," she found herself saying. And she meant it.

She stared at him for a moment, thinking he didn't seem old enough to have a son her age and thinking his teeth were crooked and not really caring.

"Always happy to help," he answered, his stoic features relaxing. Belle felt herself leaning towards him, his forehead just over her own in her heels, she was right at the level to put her head on his shoulder comfortably.

How odd, she mused, that once he told her he wasn't interested in her, that she suddenly felt comfortable enough to consider touching him?

His eyes were watching a yellow taxi approach and when he turned around with a flippant response, he found her watching him with what she could only assume must look exactly like drunken interest.

And she found herself giggling at his affronted expression. He looked almost—taken aback and he hustled her forward, the valet with the umbrella materializing next to them as he took her arm from Mr. Scotch and walked her towards the waiting cab.

"Address?" the valet asked her.

"5654 Rue Street," she answered automatically, ducking her head and sliding into the warmth of the cab as the valet and the driver exchanged money and directions.

She looked back out to see her dragon watching safely from the awning of the Rabbit Hole. His hands crossed over his cane as he watched her intently from his dry spot. The steam from the dry cleaner next to the bar was curling around him and the mist made it more Casablanca than Friday night in Storybrooke.

She blinked, door still open and as the valet came to close it, she leaned out.

"Thank you again! It's very much appreciated!"

He nodded and the valet shut the door and hustled back to the waiting man. The driver pulled away from the curb and Belle watched the street disappear behind her.

She curled down, watching the street lights wink as they drove by. The driver was taking the short way home, obviously having been paid well enough to not bother taking a scenic route and Belle contemplated her evening as they pulled up to her building.

As she stepped out, she felt her phone buzz once and as she trudged up to the apartment door, she glanced down to see it was a text from Ashton.

Him.

She turned her key in the door to the lobby and slid inside, rain beading on her skin as she stared down at the text.

And then plopping it back in her purse, she turned and pressed the elevator for up. Her wine soaked and exhausted brain only seemed to register bed, water, and silver eyes.

And with that, Belle's night ended.

**Author's Notes**

**Thanks for reading- this is currently just a one shot that I wrote a while ago but I may revisit it if I ever get back to Storybrooke!**


End file.
